KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

The parchment felt heavy in my hands, the inked words a grim portent that clouded the serenity of my study. Reports-confidential and unsettling-whispered of Paul Biansky's clandestine meetings with The Black Faes. As I reread the missive, a chill slithered down my spine, and I tightened my grip on the paper, crumpling its edges. My heart, usually so steady and assured, now thrummed with a disquieting rhythm.

"Send for Paul," I commanded, my voice echoing off the stone walls ...